


Old habits die hard

by chick_with_wifi



Series: Covert Operations [2]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-22
Updated: 2016-08-22
Packaged: 2018-08-10 09:38:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7839754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chick_with_wifi/pseuds/chick_with_wifi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Root and Shaw's early retirement to Spain is abruptly cut short when Harold arrives with devastating news - John has been kidnapped.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Old habits die hard

**Author's Note:**

> **Content warning:** angst, kidnapping and detailed mentions of food and an eating disorder
> 
> The sequel to Area 51 (the formatting of which is awful and I apologise)

Shaw dived into the cool water, feeling the temperature change wake up her muscles and clear her mind. Her long hair was tucked under a cap and she was wearing a black swimming costume. Tearing up and down the longest part of the oval-shaped pool, she went slowly at first to warm up then gradually sped up.

From the shade of the villa emerged Root, wearing a white sundress patterned with purple flowers, flipflops, her wavy hair loose and carrying a glass of water. She walked over to the side of the pool Shaw was approaching and knelt down, setting the glass next to her. Unfortunately, it was the deep end so when Shaw swam up to the edge she had to prop her elbows up on the warm concrete, scattering drips of water around them in the process.

“I thought you might be thirsty,” said Root, gesturing to the glass of water.

“And you wanted to watch me work out,” observed Shaw, taking one arm off the side to wipe the excess water off her face then picking up the glass.

Root tried not to stare at the prominent muscles in Shaw’s arms. “That too.”

“How are the kids?” asked Shaw, handing the empty glass back to Root.

“Gen is going native and having a siesta. Last time I saw Em she was ‘painting’.” She accompanied this last word with finger-quotes and a scrunched-up nose.

Shaw laughed slightly. “Just how worried should I be?”

Root pulled a face. “It depends how attached you are to her current hair colour.” She stood and brushed her knees off. “I’ve disrupted your training enough.”

She was about to go back inside when Shaw called her name. She spun round on one heel, hair flying out. Shaw indicated with her head to the sun lounger and Root smiled, striding over to it. She gracefully settled herself on it and folded her hands behind her head, dislodging her glasses slightly.

Shaw resumed her swimming while Root watched her lithe movements.

A little while later Gen heel-walked outside exclaiming ‘ow hot’ every time one of her bare feet touched the ground until she reached the top step of the pool whereupon she breathed a sigh of relief as her feet were submerged in the shimmering liquid. Her curly hair was sticking up in every direction like she’d plugged herself into an electrical socket and she was dressed in white cargo shorts and a purple T-shirt with the slogan ‘totes amaze’. Both were slightly crumpled suggesting she had recently been asleep. She stifled a yawn as Shaw paused her swimming again.

“How was your siesta?” asked Shaw, standing this time since she was in the shallow end.

“Hot,” replied Gen, sitting on the edge of the pool with her feet in the water.

“Are you wearing sunscrean? That was directed at both of you,” added Shaw.

“Yes,” replied Gen.

Root pondered for a second before grudgingly standing up and heading back inside. Emma was sat at the dining table with blue and red paint decorating her arms with the odd speck in her brown hair. Thankfully there was none on her clothes. “How’s it going?” Root asked her daughter as she got a bottle of sunscreen out of the medicine cabinet.

“Good,” replied Emma, dabbing at the page with her paintbrush. Two finished pieces already littered the table, one of a beach and another of their villa. For an eight year old, Emma had a lo  
ot of talent. She was just a little...messy.

Root sprayed the lotion onto her hands and rubbed it into her arms, wincing at the slimy texture.

“Do you like it?” Emma held up her latest creation, which was a detailed flower, for Root to see.

“It’s beautiful, Darling,” replied her mother.

“Just like you,” said Emma with a smile.

Root let out a delighted laugh and hugged her daughter. “Just like you as well.”

“ROOT!” bellowed Shaw from outside, urgency in her voice.

Without a second's hesitation, Root told Emma to stay where she was and raced outside, disregarding the fact that she hit her shoulder against a doorframe on the way. Outside, Shaw and Gen were stood with a man facing away from Root. All she could see was a Hawaiian-style shirt (presumably bought at a gift shop on the way there, since the tag was poking out), lightweight trousers and bright orange flipflops (also presumably bought on the way). As he turned round, he revealed himself to be Harold. Were it not for the expression on his face she would have laughed at the sight of Harold Finch in stereotypical tourist getup.

“Is everything alright?” Root forced herself to ask, voice shaky and higher pitched than normal.

“Far from it, I’m afraid. John has been taken.”

“What? By who?” asked Root.

“I don't know precisely who, but I received an anonymous text saying unless I give them the Machine they will kill him. I have 48 hours, starting a few hours ago.” He held up his phone, showing them a timer on 42 hours and counting down.

“You’re not going to give it to them, right?” said Shaw.

“Assuredly not, Miss Shaw! That's why I’m here. I need your help to get him back,” said Harold.

“We’re retired,” said Root through a tight throat. Her fingers were twitching, desperate to type. In their four-year retirement that had been the one thing Root was reluctant to give up, so they had invested in a typewriter for her. After preventing the emergence of Samaritan, Root had debated what to do for a long time. Stay and work for the Machine or leave and give Emma a proper childhood. A second do-over, of sorts. Eventually she made her decision and the Machine gave her and Shaw enough money to buy a property and move to Spain. It was a complete clean slate. No work, no technology, nothing from their old lives. They hadn't even told Harold or John their new address, only the Machine. It was definitely best for Emma and Genrika, and proving to be the same for Root and Shaw. After working so hard and so long for this, Root was reluctant to give it up.

“I’m aware of that,” said Harold. “But I was hoping you would make an exception.”

To hide the fact that they were shaking, Root clasped her hands.

“Can we have a minute?” asked Shaw. When Harold nodded, she placed a hand on the small of Root’s back and guided her inside. 

In the distance they could just head Harold say, “how have you been, Miss Zhirova?”

“You don't want to do this,” observed Shaw, closing their bedroom door.

Root sat on their bed. “I don't. Well obviously I want to help John but I don't want to go back to...that life. Or the Machine. For so long I believed computers were more logical than people, less likely to be selfish or stupid. Having Emma changed that of course, but then I met Her and it was like my life suddenly made sense. I had a purpose. Then I left Her and now I don't think I would be able to do that again.”

“Whatever you decide to do, I support you fully,” promised Shaw. She was stood leaning against the wall with one leg crossed over the other.

“We should help John,” decided Root eventually, head tilted back and her eyes closed.

Shaw smiled at the thought of finally getting some action. Sports were good, but nothing gave her a thrill like fighting. Together they headed back outside and Root informed Harold of their decision.

“I was hoping you’d say that!” said Gen excitedly. “Can I go tell Em?”

Shaw nodded. As Gen jogged off to find Emma, Harold took a breath. “The Machine has booked us seats on a flight leaving in an hour. I suggest you pack a few essentials.”

Root nodded mutely and led the way inside. Harold sat on the sofa while Root tossed some clothes and toiletries into a holdall, packing enough for Shaw and herself. When they were all ready the five of them trekked into town in the blistering heat. Root’s hand was sweaty where she was holding the bag and she was constantly readjusting her grip. Every now and then she could feel a prickling sensation on her back.

They made it through airport security quickly, using the passports the Machine had made for them to move to Spain. Once they were settled in the cramped seats, the order going Shaw, Gen, Emma, Root, Harold, the serious conversation began.

“When and where did you last see John?” asked Root quietly.

“In the library this morning. I went out to meet a friend and when I came back the room had been ransacked and he was gone. A few minutes later I got the text that automatically deleted itself and flew out immediately.”

“I suppose She booked your flight,” muttered Root.

“Yes.”

The aeroplane began to taxi along the runway, the floor juddering slightly. When it took off, the pressure hurt Root’s ears so she pressed her lips together tightly and swallowed. She couldn't resist the urge to look out of the window once they were in the air. Seemingly endless trees and houses stretching out beneath them. But before she could go off on a mental tangent about insignificance and maybe put the feeling she’d had in the back of her mind most of her life into words, Harold spoke again. “I suppose you’ll want to saw the library when we descend,” he offered. Not unkindly, although he made it clear he already knew what her answer would be.

“It wouldn't do to miss something vital,” she replied, her tone bordering on condescending.

The approaching sound of clattering, rustling and a squeaky wheel heralded the arrival of an air hostess. “Drinks or snacks?” she offered.

While Harold ordered tea, Root asked Emma if she wanted anything. Unfortunately, doing so required temporarily dragging her daughter away from the card game she was playing with Gen that looked suspiciously like poker. 

“Pringles, please,” replied Emma distractedly, focussed intently on her cards.

Root turned to the waitress. “Pringles and a bottle of water, please.” The waitress smiled and handed her the pringles, a chilled bottle and a plastic cup. “Thank you.”

Root placed the pringles on Emma’s tray and cracked open her bottle, pouring some into the cup. Clinking it against Harold's cup of tea, she said, “to the Machine.”

Meanwhile Shaw, against all odds, had actually managed to fall asleep. A position Root envied fiercely when her long legs began to feel the long flight in a cramped seat. Of course, she was fairly sure Harold was in more pain than she was, but he didn't mention it. 

The flight was a long one - approximately 8 hours. During which time Root watched a film, lost a game of snap to Emma and played a game of virtual chess against Harold which ended in stalemate. Shortly after that a meal was delivered to them. Emma and Gen started a film in sync on their respective TV screens and watched it while eating. Root picked at her meal. Shaw, who had woken up at the promise of food, noticed this immediately. “You’ve got to eat more than that.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You're never hungry, that's no excuse. At least eat half of it.”

Root picked up her fork and shovelled a few more mouthfuls of mashed potato, despite the fact that it made her feel like gagging. This was something she had explained to Shaw fairly soon after they retired to Spain: she didn't enjoy eating at all. The entire process of putting food in one’s mouth, chewing and swallowing was unpleasant and exhausting for her. She didn't like the taste or texture of food, but she could just about tolerate most things. Life had been this way as long as she could remember. As a kid, she only ate 4 foods (cheese, cucumber, tuna and tomatoes) because everything else was too horrible. Gradually, she branched out to actual meals but she would still drink a meal if she could.

Unfortunately, this sometimes led to her having trouble maintaining a healthy weight and occasionally forgetting to eat, so she had taken to setting alarms on her phone for mealtimes. Like pretty much everything else in her life, this changed drastically after Emma was born. She got her ass in gear and started having designated mealtimes and proper meals, making sure her daughter was fed and healthy. Even if she didn't finish her food, she always made sure Emma did. 

But Shaw couldn't believe it when Root first told her. “What do you mean you don't like food?!” had been her reaction, as if Root had said ‘I don't like puppies’. Root smiled fondly at the memory. That was the beginning of ‘Sameen Shaw’s mission to get Root to put on weight’. They had tried a protein shake drink thing, but Root had found the thick texture of it to be almost unbearable to they scrapped that fairly quickly.

“Good job,” congratulated Shaw. Root looked down in surprise to discover that she had been so lost in her thoughts she had eaten the entire meal. A little rush of pride fluttered in her chest.

…..

Before they knew it, the plane had landed in New York and Harold was leading them back to the library. None of them were dressed appropriately for the chill air, so they ended up stopping in the middle of the sidewalk to open their bags and put on some more layers.

“Here we are,” announced Harold as he unlocked the door. The library was in a complete state of disarray - the desk chair knocked over, books and papers littering the floor and scuff marks leading out of the door.

“I’ll have a look round,” murmured Shaw and she began methodically scanning the room, searching for anything out of the ordinary that could be a potential clue.

Gen and Emma waited by the books, since that area had not been touched. In the meantime, Harold took a small item out of a drawer and pressed it into Root’s hand. An earpiece. “She wants to talk to you,” he muttered.

For a hot second Root dithered, unsure whether or not to do this. Oh, to hell with it. She put the earpiece in her ear and the familiar voice came through instantaneously. “Can. You. Hear. Me?” Emotions hit her like a sledgehammer, so powerful she had to sit down. Fear, trepidation, excitement, relief.

“Yes. Yes, I can hear you.”

“Welcome. Back. I am unable to. Locate Primary Asset Reese.”

“That’s why we’re here. Sometimes you just need opposable thumbs.”

“I do not understand.”

“You weren't meant to. Sorry, it’s just a really weird time for me right now.”

“Because you are back in New York?”

“I guess. I always try and do what’s best for Emma, but at times like this I feel like a bad mother.”

“Emma Hanna Groves has mentioned strong affection towards Analog Interface over one thousand times.”

Sighing in relief, Root leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes.

“Hey, guys!” called Shaw from the main room. “I think I got something!”

Root ran through, closely followed by Harold. Shaw held up a phone with a long string of didits typed into it. “A phone number?” guessed Root.

“No,” said Harold, taking the phone off Shaw and looking at the numbers more closely. “It’s a cipher.” He grabbed a pen and a blank sheet of paper, drawing a 5 by 5 grid and filling it with the letters of the alphabet. “Or more specifically a tap code. The first number indicates the row and the second the column, each corresponding to a letter. It was used as a form of communication by prisoners in the Vietnam War.” He decoded the message, and it read ‘TRNSTN’.

“They’ve taken Reese to a train station,” inferred Shaw.

“Not just any train station,” said Root. “She can't locate him which means he must be somewhere without microphones or cameras. I doubt there are many train stations that fit that bill in this day and age.”

Through her earpiece, the Machine said, “I have a shadow map.” On the screen of the computer appeared a map of New York with several small areas highlighted in red. The Machine’s words passed to Root’s lips almost instantaneously. “The areas indicated are black sites. Primary Asset Reese must be located somewhere here.” The map zoomed in behind a train station. “It may be dangerous. I suggest you arm yourselves.” If any of them thought Root speaking for the Machine was weird they didn't comment.

“I’ll get weapons,” offered Shaw. “How much time do we have?”

Harokld consulted his phone. “28 hours 37 minutes. Normally I’d be against violence, but if they hurt John in any way...you know what to do.”

“I hope it doesn't come to that,” agreed Shaw, putting a gun in her waistband. Then she headed over to where Root was talking to Gen and Emma.

“We can help,” promised Gen. “Kids can get away with almost anything.” Emma nodded her agreement.

Root sighed. “I know. And I know we need your help, but that doesn't change the fact that I feel terrible about asking this of you.” She put her head in her hands.

“You’re not asking - we offered,” Emma pointed out. 

“That doesn't make it OK,” protested Root. Was she really having this conversation with a 14- and an 8-year-old?

Shaw handed Root two guns. “We’ll keep them safe, I promise.” The Machine beeped Her agreement in her ear.

“I guess...we don't really have much choice at this point.” Root spread her hands out in a gesture of defeat. Or was it surrender? “We can't afford to lose any more time. Come on, Harry.” She led the way out of the library, following the Machine’s instructions in her ear. It felt good to be functioning as the Analog Interface again. Exhilarating even, but she knew it couldn't last. She had a family to take care of.

“This is it,” said Root eventually. They were stood before an old red brick building with a clock tower and a leaded window patterned with criss crosses. “He won't be inside; there are cameras there.”

“I’ll go look around the back,” volunteered Gen. Hugging the wall, she scurried round the side of the building, careful to keep her footsteps light like Shaw had taught her. Behind the building was a small alcove lit by the meagre light filtering out of a nearby window. In the gloom, she could just about make out the shape of two people, one sat in a chair. She got closer, ducking under the window. Squatting there, she couldn't see them which meant they also could not see her. Nor could they see her shadow, because she was small enough to fit in the unlit area directly under the windowlsill. 

“Your friends have 26 hours,” said a young female voice. “You must be getting uncomfortable in that chair and I don't know how many more times we can use the bathroom in there before somebody notices you climbing in through the window. I do hope they get a shift on.”

“They won't give you the Machine,” replied John’s familiar gravelly tones with a resolute defiance that indicated it was not the first time he had said it.

I found him! thought Gen. She felt the ground around her to check there were no stones, twigs or anything that would make a sound when she moved, then crawled around the corner. Stealthily, she returned to the others. “There's a woman back there. She had John tied to a chair.”

“You're sure it was him?” asked Shaw.

“How many other people could it be?” Shaw gave her a Look. “Yes, it was him. I spied on them.”

Shaw patted her on the shoulder. “Good work. You ready, Emma?”

“I think so,” replied the girl.

“If you don't want to do this you don't have to,” Root reminded her.

“I want to,” said Emma firmly.

“She’ll be fine,” whispered Shaw. The two of them were off, and Harold put a comforting arm around Root who gratefully leaned on him.

Shaw climbed onto the roof and raced across it. Emma took a deep breath and jogged around the corner, making herself cry. She sobbed loudly and wiped a sleeve across her face. This sorry sight was enough to make the woman turn around. 

“Are you OK?” she asked gently, stepping closer to Emma - away from John.

“I’m lost,” wailed Emma, overdoing it until she saw Shaw land next to John. At which point she eased the hysterics slightly.

“Where are you meant to be?” asked the woman.

Emma sniffed. “I was looking for the park but it isn’t here!”

Meanwhile Shaw had dropped down like a cat next to John and cut him free while the woman was distracted by Emma who was giving a very convincing performance. Clearly she was her mother's daughter.

“I don't actually know where the nearest park is,” admitted the woman. “But maybe I can help you find it?”

Emma nodded tearfully as Shaw sent John back to the others. She stayed put to watch over the 8 year old. The woman led her to the front of the building where she was met by a familiar face.

“Harold Finch,” she said. “We meet again.”

“Claire Mahoney,” he replied calmly.

Emma raced off to join Root, John and Gen at a nearby diner while Shaw kept an eye on Harold and Claire from a distance, one hand on the gun inside her jacket.

“I should have suspected it was you,” he continued.

“You mean you didn't?” asked Claire I surprise. “How many people are after your Machine?”

“More than I’d care to admit, and those are just the ones I know about.” He took a step closer. “Whatever you're doing, you don't have to. I can help you.”

Claire didn't move. “How?”

“You need a purpose, and more importantly you need a job. I can give you both. I do believe we can be of assistance to each other, Miss Mahoney.”

She blinked and took a breath, resolve cracking. “Really?”

Harold took another step closer, and this time Claire did the same so there was about two feet between them.

Looking at the ground, she said, “you have some really dedicated friends.”

“Whose retirement to Spain you disturbed. Fortunately for you, we will have some position openings when they return. Then you can be a ‘really dedicated friend’, as you put it.”

“Do you have, like, an application form or something?”

“Part one involves meeting my friends.” He led the way to the diner.

…..

Root was sat in a booth with her friends and family, eating a cupcake when Harold entered with a young woman. Her logic behind this was if she couldn't give her body sleep, she would give it food. She had debated having caffeine, but concluded that it would keep her awake if or when she finally got the opportunity to grab some shuteye.

“Allow me to introduce our new recruit,” announced Harold as she sat down. “Claire Mahoney.”

Claire looked ashamedly at John. “I’m sorry about kidnapping you.”

John shrugged. “In our line of work we walk in the dark. It doesn't mean we have to walk it alone. Welcome to the team.”

“What line of work is that, exactly?”

“Helping people,” said John simply. “I promise you, it is the most fulfilling line of work out there.”

Root stood. “I hate to cut this short, but we have a flight to catch.” Shaw, Gen and Emma joined her. “Thank you for everything. Especially You,” she added in a whisper before taking the earpiece out and handing it to Harold. Then she took Shaw’s hand in her own, Emma’s in the other and walked out of the door.


End file.
